Deltora: Armies of Chaos
by sirreel-27
Summary: 300 years after Lief and his companions ended the Shadow Lord's reign of Deltora, darkness still finds a way to survive. In this new world, four will embrace the darkness as their master and will attempt to over run Deltora with their armies of chaos.
1. Prologue

The small procession walked as fast as they could without breaking into a run. They felt eyes all around them, hungry eyes that would strike out and drag them into the shadows if one fell behind. The towering walls of the mountains seemed ready to swallow them whole and the dark clouds above threatened to fall on top of them at any moment. They climbed a narrow, treacherous path, up to the peak of one of the smaller mountains. In their midst they dragged a young man in chains. His long black hair hung lank over his face and his body was covered with cuts and bruises. He stumbled along with the others, too weak to try and resist. He could barely see what was in front of him. Not that he wanted to, he realized. He knew where they were taking him.

They reached the top of the mountain. It formed a small plateau in the midst of the other jagged cliffs and peaks. The other men shoved the chained man near the edge of the plateau. The man look back. The mountain side was smooth and fell gradually down to the bottom. But it wasn't the drop his eyes were fixed on. It was the land beyond it.

The oldest of the procession, garbed in a red and black cloak, stepped forward.

"Rheith, son of Rhathar, you stand guilty of the murder of the children Neima and Palla," he said in a gruff voice.

Rheith's eyes shifted to Dollan, the father of the two girls. His face was twisted with hatred and his hands clenched into fists. Rheith matched his gaze, refusing to have his will broken. He stared back with the same intensity.

"By judgement of the council of Shadowgate, I sentence you to be cast into the Shadowlands, never to return to Deltora. We will not rembember you. We will not mourn. We will not regret."

"_I _regret nothing!" Rheith shouted, not willing to give them the satisfaction of him begging, "I _will_ escape the Shadowlands and return here, and kill all of you!"

"You chose the darkness and now we give you to the darkness. Go, and be with your new Shadow Lord!"

One of the men carried a long staff and he jabbed it at Rheith's stomach, sending the chained man tumbling over the edge. The world became a blur of dirt as he fell, farther and farther down the slope. He tried to gain some kind of hold on the rock and the dirt, but the chains around his hands prevented any such attempt. Finally, he slowed down and came to a sudden, painful stop.

He grunted and spat out dirt as he heaved himself up. His body was burning with pain, his skin torn and ripped in many places. He managed to pull himself off the ground and look back up the mountain. There the other men stood, motionless, looking down at him. He glanced back at the endless gray land behind him, then tried going back up the mountain. Almost as soon as he started his second step, his boday slammed against the dreaded invisible wall. He looked again at the men at the top of the mountain, his rage growing more. He quickly spun around and headed for the Shadowlands. He would not let them see him suffer. He would not let them see his pain. Deep down, the fire that fueld his rage grew to an inferno. But he knew that even the strongest inferno could not survive in the darkness of the Shadowlands. And he felt it. Felt the darkness. Felt it calling to him from across the Shadowlands.

The voice of the Shadow Lord.


	2. Aeran

Aeran stumbled across the dim room, lit only by two candles on the other side. His head was dazed and slammed his leg into the large table at the center of the room. Cursing, he leaned over and searched with his hands for what he was looking for. After grasping sheets of paper, books, and quills, he finally found what he was looking for: a small, wooden box edged with gold. Breathing quickly, he opened his and dropped its contents on the table. A small vial, filled with red liquid, with a single wing engraved in the glass. He looked at it eagerly, uncorked the lid, and tipped a drop of it onto his finger. He licked it off with his tongue and the dizziness in his head left almost immediately. His body on fire, like he could tear down the very walls of the palace around him. He closed his eyes and savored the feeling of invincibility.

After a few minutes, he turned around and looked at the women who was lying in his bed. He barely remembered what had happened and he couldn't recall for his life what her name was. But that just made him smirk. By the morning she would be gone and he would forget her completely. Running his fingers through his thick brown hair, he moved to his closet and dressed. As he moved to the table to find some food from last night, he heard a knock on his door. Glancing at the woman to make sure she hadn't moved, he quickly went to the door and cracked it open. One of the palace guards stood at attention outside.

"Lord Aeran, King Lian requests your audience in the Library," the guard said as if memorized.

"At this ungodly hour?" Aeran frowned.

"Immediately," the guard replied, "I am to escort you to him immediately."

_Escort me?_ Aeran fumed as he followed the guard down the silent halls of the palace. At this hour, everyone else was asleep while he went to speak to his brother, the king. _What is so important that it could not wait for the morning? What is so important that I have to speak to him at all?_

Aeran had always felt a grudge to his older brother. While he had always been the strongest, the most determined of the two, there his portly brother sat on the throne, his innocent little mind making the decisions for all of Deltora.

As they walked down the hallways, they passed the Great Hall, where stood the mightiest statue in the Palace, the likeness of the great King Lief, the one who saved Deltora three hundred years ago from the clutches of the Shadow Lord. Aeran always felt a mixture of emotions when he stood in the presence of the statue: pride at being descended from such a legendary hero, but also angry, that his brother was the one that represented the bloodline and not him. If he were the king, people across Deltora would know no fear, would have no troubles in the world. He would honor the name of the great King Lief, as it should be.

They entered the Library of the Palace. The enormous bookshelves stretched across all the walls, filled to the brim as they always were. King Lian was an avid reader, something that Aeran saw as a sign of weakness. Reading was a fiction and he was only comfortable in reality. And as he walked past the bookshelves, there he was at a table piled high with books. Lian, with his short black hair and trimmed beard, hunched over a large brown book. He was shorter than Aeran and much thinner, possessing none of the muscles that Aeran always boasted. As he approached the table, Lian raised his gaze from the book. His face was serious.

"Well Aeran, having a good night?" he asked in mock sincerity.

"Until now, brother. What is the meaning of this? Surely you did not summon me for idle conversation."

Lian rubbed his hands, as was his habit when contemplating what to say. His eyes looked slightly saddened.

"The servants have brought something to my attention. Something regarding your behavior of recently." Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a small glass vial, with a single wing engraved in the glass. Aeran's heart skipped a beat and his hands clenched involuntarily. He had been sure that he'd disposed of all his supply.

"Look familiar?" Lian said in a low voice, "The servants found it a few days ago in your chambers, under your bed. They had no idea what it was and just now showed it to me, wondering if it was something important."

Lian's eyes glared accusingly at Aeran, thought Aeran could hardly say that it was threatening. Instead Aeran's gaze remained fixed on the vial, wondering how he could have misplaced it. He had always taken such care...

"Well?" Lian demanded, his voice rising, "What is the meaning of this?"

Aeran shifted his gaze to his brother, and shrugged, "Comfort."

Lian slammed his fist on the table, knocking down a few of the books he had piled beside him. His face was in a hard frown and his body tense.

"This is Dragonblood, Aeran! It is illegal! Do you know what would happen if the people learned that one of the royal family was addicted to it? Faith would be lost in us as rulers and it would be one step closer to repeating the events of the past."

"What of it them?" Aeran demanded, his voice filled with anger, "If you don't want it known, then don't tell! No one will ever know if it is hidden."

Lian shook his head, leaning back in the chair. He was rubbing his hands again and had broken his gaze with Aeran.

"I'm afraid it is not that simple," he said, a hint of sorrow in his voice, "I know you Aeran. I know how you act. How once you find something, you hardly ever let it go."

Aeran's frown deepened. He did not like where this conversation was going.

Lian stood up suddenly, looking Aeran directly in eyes.

"Aeran, I hereby banish you from the city of Del. The guards will escort you from the palace." he said with utmost seriousness, nodding at the guards that stood at the far end of the library.

Aeran's jaw dropped. His anger grew tenfold at that moment and if the guards had not grabbed him at that moment, he would have rushed and attacked his brother.

"How can you do this!" he shouted as the guards dragged him away from the king, "I am a descendant of King Lief! It is _I_ who should be king!"

"I'm sorry brother," he heard Lian from the table.

"You are no brother of mine! You are a false king! I will sit on the throne of Deltora! I will bring back the honor that you have lost! Mark my words, Lian! My day will come!" he shouted as the guards pulled him from the Library.


	3. Sarra

Crouching in the darkness of the night, Sarra's ice-blue eyes were focused on the dummy fifty yards away. Her breath was calm in the cool, night air, but her heart beat was rising. She had been waiting in the trees for at least thirty minutes and she could feel that it was about time. Beside her crouched Orlan, a Capricon, his muscles tense. He was dressed in old, Capricon armor and a helmet with large horns on the side. In his hands he gripped a short, curved blade, like the one Sarra held.

Orlan raised his head and sniffed the air, "I can smell him."

Sarra grinned, her hands clenching into fists. Just as he had said this, a strong gale began to blow through the trees. The long, black hair they had put on the dummy's head was flowing in the wind. _Perfect_, she thought.

She looked over in the trees and saw the outlines of Namm and Bruhan, already in position. The areas past this were too dark to see, but she knew the others were ready. Ready for their prize.

The wind was picking up speed. Sarra gripped her blade tighter and readied herself. She could hear Orlan breathing heavily beside her, his hooves digging into the ground. The night suddenly turned darker as a shadow fell over the moon. A deep thumping noise filled her eardrums as she looked up.

There it was; a ruby dragon. A younger one, by the size of it. It was quite smaller than some of the adult dragons that she had seen, but it was still immense compared to all of them. It lowered itself to the ground with mighty flaps of its crimson winds, eyes intent of the dummy's hair. Sarra held herself back from making the order. It had to be at the perfect time.

The dragon's hind legs tounched the ground and it's stomach arched forwards for the balance.

"Now!" Sarra cried, jumping to her feet.

A heavy snap rang out as the balista to her right let loose its missile, flying directly towards the dragon's exposed chest. The beast saw its danger too late, and the giant arrow tore into it's underbelly. The dragon roared in pain, crashing to the ground. It tried to use its wings to gain flight again, but already the men in back of it were rushing towards it. They shot arrows at its wings, tearing the thin membranes, causing it to roar even loader. Chains were thrown over the beast as it struggled to rise. It struck two of her men directly with its razor-sharp claws, tearing through their stomachs. They collapsed on the ground in pools of blood.

Sarra, teeth clenched together, rushed forward as well, Orlan close behind. The dragon spotted her and the Capricon, reared its neck, and let out a stream of fire. She spun to the left and Orlan to his right, making the dragon hesitate for a split second.

"Wrap its mouth!" Sarra shouted.

Chains flew in the air towards the dragons head, latching on to its scaly skin. It roared again as its head was pulled towards the ground. It tried breathing fire again, but her men had its head controlled, so it could only aim straight in front of itself. Finally, the men secured the dragon down, making it unable to move. Sarra approached the dragon, looking it directly in the eye. The giant pools of crimson stared back at her, almost pleadingly. She smiled to herself as Orlan brought her a large axe, made from the bones of a dragon. Its blade was made of a filed dragon's tooth and the ruby dragon's eyes were glazed with fear.

"Please..." the dragon whispered to her as she approached its head.

"Sorry," she replied, a dark grin running across her face, "But you're worth so much more to us dead."

And with that she raised the axe in the air and brought it down with tremendous force into the beast's brain. The other men around her howled wildly as the axe sunk deep into its skull, causing a final, dying roar from the dragon. Then, slowly, its eyes began to dim, until the they the color of stones.

"Alright boys!" she shouted to her men, "Let's drain this thing!"

The men cheered as they brought great wooden barrels from the woods around them, rolling them up to the dragon's corpse. They pulled out long tubes as well, and after slicing through the scales of its skin, proceded to jam the tubes into its body. The rich, red blood soon came seeping out, filling up the barrels one by one. As the men sang of their success, Sarra stood next to Orlan.

"A good kill," Orlan spat at the dragon, "The profits in Bromme will be great indeed."

Sarra nodded. Her black leather clothes had been stained by the dragons blood, but she didn't mind. Here was another supply of Dragonblood, which would gain them another fortune. She was already richer than she could ever imagine, as the wealthy and powerful in Deltora and beyond paid greatly for the extremely addictive blood of dragons. But it was the hunt that she was addicted to, the thrill of killing a beast this large and powerful. She and her men were the only ones who dared hunt dragons in Deltora, an act strictly forbidden by the kings.

As the moonlight illuminated the dead dragon, she reached in a pocket and pulled out a small glass vial, with a wing engraved on it. Climbing on top of the dragon's head, she dipped the vial into the pool of blood where her axe had struck and filled the vial to the top. Stepping back to the ground, she raised the vial to her nose and inhaled deeply. The incredibly strong aroma made her nose burn and her eyes water, but it also made her smile.

_A job well done_, she thought as she corked the vial.


	4. Dralin

As the sun set behind the peaks of Red Mountain, Dra-lin gazed down at the fires below him. He and his soldiers had been burning the trees that clung to the side of the mountain for nearly a week now, and he was pleased with the results. His cold, steel-gray eyes scoured the burnt earth, where the tall towers of mine shafts were being built. On ledge he had a perfect view of the entire slope of the mountain, and the fires that burned below were impressive to behold, as they showed the signs of progress.

Dra-lin folded his arms across his chest. His worthless brothers of Dread Mountain still kept hidden to the trees, dealing with the disgusting Kin and humans that had become so populace in the foothills underneath the mountains. But worse than both the Kin and the humans were the Werrals. Foreigners from another land, they were tall, skinny, and covered with ragged golden-brown hair. Their faces were like those of dogs, but their bodies resembled humans. Just thinking of them made Dra-lin frown in anger. They were notoriously inept at physical labor and were incessant complainers. They had come from Deltora's west shore, and had settled in the land between Tora and the Mountains, but seemed to ever be creeping towards Red Mountain. He and his followers on Red Mountain were at odds against the gnomes of Dread Mountain, as they were farther away from the Werral filth than the Red gnomes. Dra-lin meant to fix the problem himself now.

He smiled as he turned from the view of the ledge and proceeded back into the catacombs of Red Mountain. He could hear the hammering of steel and the roar of fires as he walked through the blackened corridors. _The engines of the future_, he thought smugly. His plans were going as scheduled, and soon it would be time to begin. He meant to take the gnomes out of the darkness of their caves and remove Del and Tora as the major powers in Deltora. It would belong to the Red Gnomes. Even the Dread Gnomes, who often sneared behind their backs at them, would bow to him. He was close now. Close to his army that would bring him conquest.

He entered the Central Cavern, where the majority of the furnaces and iron workers were. Everywhere gnomes were hammering down on metal, some making swords, others arrowheads, other constructing larger machines of war. His eyes glinted in admiration as he stepped towards a large catapult, its sturdy metal arms gleaming in the firelight. He'd like to see the magic of Tora stop these.

One of his commanders ran up to him as he moved through the lines of machinery.

"General Dra-lin!" Ra-gor saluted as reached him.

"At ease," Dra-lin nodded to the commander, dressed in his full military suit, "What news from the other Mountains?"

"Nurrad Mountain has agreed to pledge soldiers to the cause, as have Pralar and Solithar. Barren Mountain rejects our offer though. They remain loyal to the Dread Gnomes."

"Barren Mountain has little strength. Their assistance will not be needed," Dra-lin continued walking, Ra-gor on his heels, "Solithar is the key ally we need. They have sufficient soldiers to spare and their position will give us a strong foothold in the mainland, while we take the west."

Ra-gor nodded, "Nurrad Mountain is strongly behind the plan, but I have doubts about the Pralar Gnomes. They seemed very anxious during our meeting. There may be a chance they could report it to Dread Mountain."

"As I'm sure the Barren Gnomes will do. But by that time we will have more than enough power to defeat Dread Mountain. Then, it will up to those who show loyalty towards our cause whether they stay or fall."

At that moment, a guard came running up to them, his wiry hair wet with sweat.

"Sir!" he saluted to Dra-lin and Ra-gor, who returned the gesture, "The sentries find someone in the forests at the foot of the mountain. A Werral spy!"

Dra-lin clenched his fists together, "Take me to the dog."

They followed the guard down the pathways in the mountain until they reached a large, square room filled with cages, some lying on the floor, some hanging from chains in the air. The guard led the them to a cage in the far left corner, where a rather large Werral was cowering in the corner, shivering pathetically. At the sight of them he tried to crawl further back in the cage. Dra-lin took grim satisfaction in the fact the filth itself would be much taller than them if it stood up. But now, they stood menacingly overhead.

"We found him sneaking around in the trees at the base of the mountain. He had a clear view of the fires. No doubt on his way to the Dread Gnomes." one of guards standing in front of the cage explained.

"Please, my lords!" the Werral begged, is long bony fingers covering its eyes, "Have mercy on me! Please! I did not mean to come into your forests! I was trying to get home, after a long day of work!"

Ra-gor laughed cruelly, "You stupid dog! You've never done a full days work in your life, I'm sure of it. All you filthy Werrals do is beg for food, all day long. Well you won't find the mercy of the Torans here! Not on Red Mountain!"

The Werral looked up for a moment, "But the lords of Dread Mountain are so kind to poor me. They give me food and shelter from the rain, and tell such wonderful stories."

This time Dra-lin laughed and kicked the cage with his boot, "Does this look like Dread Mountain to you? Does it?!"

The Werral shook his head quickly and curled up into a ball again, "Please don't hurt me. I just want to go home."

Dra-lin unsheathed the short sword on his belt and walked over to the back of the cage without a sound. "Then leave Deltora, " he said, and before the Werral could react he drove the blade into the beast's back. He slumped down into a pool of his own blood, tongue hanging limply from his mouth.

"Get this filth out of here," Dra-lin ordered the guards, "It's making my dungeon dirty."


	5. Rheith

Rheith had been walking, his back bent over, across the barren gray existence that was the Shadowlands. The dark clouds above blocked any sunlight from illuminating the land around him and a shrill, lonely wind blew around him. He shivered, from the wind and from the small voice in his head leading him east. A voice filled with malice and cunning. He was drawn to its source, but filled with terror at the same time of what he would find.

For the first hour, he had been extremely cautious, darting behind rock after rock to avoid being seen. He had heard the stories of the kinds of beasts that roamed the Shadowlands. But after an hour had gone by without so much as a glimpse, he continued more straightforward. Even then, nothing appeared to slow his journey. He hadn't heard a noise of any kind either. The deathly silence engulfed him, to where only the sound of the wind and his breathing filled his ears.

Finally, when the sky above had grown darker than it was before, he saw it in the distance. A massive factory, with smoke stakes piercing into the sky and huge mounds of wastes piled around it. He stopped in his tracks. His expression gave no sense of fear, but inside he looked at the factory as if it were an immense monster crouching and ready to kill. Gritting his teeth, captivated by the sound of the voice, he moved forward, towards the factory. But as he walked closer, he noticed things that seemed to be wrong. No smoke came from the factory. And it was completely silent. He would have been sure that the Shadow Lord would have some kind of operation in the process at his dreaded factory.

But nothing. And as he got closer and the trash mounds grew larger, he saw them piled high with Grey Guards, vraal, all many of Shadow Lord creations. All dead. All decomposing. The silence had become almost unbearable. He trudged forward, until he saw a large tower beside the factory. It looked like it had been built more recently than the rest of the factory, it's walls less worn. Its iron shell glimmered dimly in the pale light. And at its base, a gaping hole, like a mouth of some terrible beast, filled with darkness. Rheith's eyes fixed on the doorway: it was where the voice in his head called from, where it beckoned him to enter.

As he approached the iron tower, the feelings of malice and hatred that swept around him grew more and more intense, as if he were walking in an ocean of darkness. In his mind, all thoughts slowly melted away until all that was the left was the pitch blackness ahead of him, reaching out with silent fingers. Before he knew, he stood before the tower, under the archway of the door. It was at least thirty feet high, and twenty feet wide. The calling was stronger than ever now, almost a roar.

_Come to me, Rheith of Shadowgate_.

Rheith spun around, searching for whoever had spoken. The voice had been as clear as if someone had been standing behind him. But there was no one there. Just the tower, looming before him. He turned back, clenched his fists together, and walked into the darkness.

The cavern inside was extremely dark, lit only by small slits near the roof of the tower. The entirety of it was hollow, no side passages or stairs or rooms. But Rheith's eyes were focused on the center of the cavern. He was suddenly filled with fear, and repulsion, at the sight of what was in front of him.

In the middle of the floor, a massive cocoon-shaped object sprouted from the ground. It was slightly translucent, with black veins weaving all across the surface. At the bottom, it clung to the ground with what looked like giant black roots, slick with slime, and pulsating. Despite the sight of it, Rheith stepped forward, captivated. As he neared its side, he suddenly made out the faint outline of...a man inside.

_Wake me, friend. Wake me from my rest._ The voice was like an echoing roar.

Slowly, Rheith lifted his still chained hands to the slimy cocoon and dug his fingers into the skin. He ripped at it with all his strength, tearing through the black veins and the skin. The cocoon split down the middle and a wave of colorless liquid washed onto the floor. Pushing apart the two sides, Rheith looked into the cocoon.

A man lay naked in the liquid, the black veins reaching from the skin of the cocoon and covering his body. As Rheith pushed both side of the torn cocoon to the floor, the man coughed and twitched. Rheith bent down and pulled the black veins of the mans body, as the man struggled to rise from the liquid surrounding him.

"Thank you Rheith," the man said in a low voice as he was rose from the ground.

"You are welcome, sir," Rheith said, his curiosity almost uncontainable, "But, who are you? I have heard the Shadow Lord's voice ever since I entered his land, but now I have found you. I do not know what is going on."

The man then raised his head to face Rheith. Under a mane of long silvery hair, the man had eyes with black slits down the middle, and surrounded by orbs of red. He grinned at Rheith, his teeth almost as white as his hair.

"I AM the Shadow Lord. The man that I once was. So very long ago. Reborn into the flesh, to walk amongst the living once more," he closed his eyes, and took a deep breath of air, "It has been so long since I have lived."

Rheith fell to his knees, "My Lord, my people cast me into your lands and now I see that it was for a purpose. For your purpose! Let me serve you, my Lord!"

The Shadow Lord grinned again, his red eyes peering into Rheith's soul. Rheith's heart was racing as the Shadow Lord stood before him. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You are now my servant Rheith. You will be messenger of shadows. The bringer of destruction. The wielder of chaos. You will become...me."

The Shadow Lord raised his right hand to the sky, his fingers curled like claws. Suddenly lightning cracked in palm, flying in all directions. The Shadow Lord brought down his hand and slammed it into Rheith's chest. Rheith cried out as he felt complete and total darkness fill his body, reaching out until it had ensnared all of him. Then, the feeling died away, and all that was left was smoke coming from his chest, where the Shadow Lord had struck him. Slowly, he looked down.

Across his whole chest, seared into his skin in the blackest of all blacks, was the mark of the Shadow Lord.


	6. Gath

His head spinning from the last hit, Gath staggered away from his opponent. He spat a wad of blood out of his mouth and looked back up at his foe. The Jalis called Kurn was massive, his arms as thick as tree branches, his chest like a trunk. His fists were clenched together and a smug grin was etched across his face.

"What's the matter Gath?" he mocked, "Can't handle being in the big leagues?"

The roar of the crowd around them increased in volume, as Kurn slowly advanced. The arena could fit two hundred people and people were packed in tight to one another. Spectators shouted encouragement and insults down in the pit where the two Jalis warriors fought, their faces red from the heat of the sun above. Gath shook his head, trying to clear his head. Kurn lunged forward, his right arm coming at him like a hammer. Gath managed to leap out of the way and land a solid punch on the larger Jalis' back.

"Is that all you got?" Kurn grinned as he turned around, "You'll have to do better than that, runt."

Gath could hear the crowd starting to chant, chant the name of Kurn. They began stomping on the stands. _Thump! Thump! Thump!_ It sounded like his own heartbeat.

Kurn came charging towards him again, roaring at the top of his lungs. Gath grit his teeth. He had to stop dodging. Only weaklings evaded attacks. True warriors faced them head on. But Gath knew that he couldn't match Kurn's strength. He had to be tactical with his attack.

Instead of attacking Kurn face on, Gath fell to the ground just as the larger Jalis reached him and swung his legs out. Kurn gave a shout of surprise as he tumbled forward and hit the ground with a heavy thud. Gath jumped back up as the crowd began to shout, some cheering for him, some angry at the loss of their favorite. A gong sounded above the wall separating Gath and Kurn from the audience.

"And the match goes to Gath!" the announcer shouted above the crowd. Gath lifted his arms up in victory, the adrenaline still pumping in his blood. The roar of the audience flowed over him. He felt invincible. He had won.

The sun was setting as he collected his winnings in the ringmasters office. The heavy bag of coins felt good in his hands as he walked out of the arena and into the streets of Jaliad. The city had come a long way since being rebuilt in the reign of King Lief, some three hundred years ago. Much of Jalis culture had been revived and restored, creating a city that resembled itself of old. Gath had lived here his whole life, his dream of being an arena fighter finally coming to him. Many people he passed in the streets recognized him and offered their congratulation.

Night had fall when he reached the outskirts of the city. He was still in high spirits when he came to the cruck house he lived in. It sat in the middle of five similar houses, with a small blacksmith shop across from them. Two of the houses silent as he walked down the road, but in the others he heard faint voices and saw smoke rising from their chimneys. He also saw the fires in the blacksmith's forge and heard the sharp metallic clangs of metal hitting metal.

As he pushed open his door, he saw that someone had lit the hearth in the corner. He instinctively pulled the dagger he had hidden in his pants out, ready to kill whoever had broken into his home. He had thought someone would attack him, jumping from the shadows to try and finish him. But instead, he saw a single man sitting by the hearth. He wore a long black robe with the hood pulled over his head, and held a smoking pipe in his hand. He didn't seem to notice that Gath had opened the door.

"Who the hell are you?" Gath demanded, his teeth clenched in a snarl. He held the dagger out as he slowly approached the man. "What are you doing in my house?"

The man slowly turned his head, regarding the Jalis man standing in the doorway. Gath gripped the dagger tighter as the man stood up and faced him.

"Gath of the Jalis," the man spoke with a soft voice, "I've been expecting you."

Gath snorted, "Oh really? And who are you, so I know the name of the man I kill for breaking into my home."

"You did very well at arena today," the man said, seemingly making idle conversation. His indifference to the dagger and the threats made Gath all the more angry, "But I would think someone like you could do much better than the fighting pits of Jaliad."

Gath frowned, "What the hell does that mean?"

The man lifted his hood. He had thick brown had that fell to his shoulder and a small beard that seemed like it had just been shaved. Gath judged him to be from Del, based on the look of him.

"My name is Esred. And I have a proposition for you," the man paused, looking back at the hearth, "But first, I must ask you something. Do you know how your father died?"

Gath's heart skipped a beat. How had this man known that his father was dead? His father had died five years ago, when Gath was just fifteen years old. A caravan of traders had brought his body to his families door, wrapped in white, blood-stained cloth. They had found his barely alive next to the River Broad, with deep gashes all across his body. He had told them where to take his body just before he had died, the traders had said with mournful faces. His mother had been grief-stricken and had died from despair just two years later. His older brother had left one night a year ago, without giving any explanation.

"What has my father got to do with anything? You didn't even know him." Gath snarled at the stranger.

Esred shook his head, "No, I knew him very well. Graq the Jalis, his wife Jeris, and his two sons, Dram and Gath. I'm sure the traders who brought your father here did not tell you what had caused the injuries he sustained."

Gath's head was spinning, just as it had in the arena earlier that day. How could this man know all about his family? How had he known his father?

"How did he die?" Gath asked, unconsciously lowering his dagger.

"We had been tracking a vraal all across the north and had finally cornered it along the Broad River. It had been attacking villages and killing anything that crossed its path. In the heat of the battle, it latched onto your father with its teeth and did not release him until we had driven three spears through its hide." the man's voice was solemn, full of sadness and respect.

"My father...a vraal..." Gath did not know what was going on, "But why would my father be hunting a vraal? He was merchant, a traveling trader."

Esred stepped closer to Gath, his face as expressionless as a statue, "Beware Gath of the Jalis, for if I tell you this secret, you must leave everything you know behind. That is reason I am here. It has come time for you to know. I have watched your fights and know that there is thought behind your attacks, not just brute force. You are ready, just as your father was before you."

"Ready for what? What is going on?" All thoughts of killing and rage and abandoned Gath. He wanted to know what this strange man was talking about, more than anything.

Esred paused for a long time, searching the Jalis' eyes. Finally, he spoke, "Gath, your father and I are part of an order, an order that has remained secret to all but the King for the past three hundred years. All this time, we have protected Deltora's lands and borders where the Belt of Deltora cannot. For the Belt can halt the Shadow Lord, but Deltora has other enemies, enemies that must be fought with a sword. And that is what we are. We are the sword that strikes at those who mean to harm Deltora and its people. We are the Blade of Deltora. And we are ready for you."


	7. Dangerous Work

The sky above was black with raincloads as Sarra and her caravan reached the docks of Broome. Ships large and small were anchored near the dockyards, bobbing up and down in the choppy waters. Sarra smelt the putrid smell of fish lingering all around her as she and Orlan walked down to a small building tucked between two of the larger storehouses. There were still small pockets of people walking up and down the docks, Broome dockhands and foreign sailors retreating back to the city before the rain came pouring down. A group of armored men holding spears and swords on their belts sat in front of the building, huddled around a small fire. They looked up distrustfully as she and her warriors reached them. She had two wagons pulled by horses, loaded with barrels full of the precious Dragonblood. She signaled her men to stay outside as she opened the door and stepped inside, Orlan on her heels.

The buildings inside was dimly lit and filled with scented smoke. It was lavishly furnished, contrasting to the simplicity of its expterior. Large couches and chairs filled the room, with plush carpets and exquisitely decorated cabinets. There were three men seated among the chairs, with twice as many women clinging to them affectionately. Sarra spotted her target nearest to her, his attention fixed on the women seated beside him, and made towards him.

The man looked up to her as she reached him, his expression not surprised. He was of Maroshi decent, from across the sea to the east. He was dressed in that fashion, clothed in robes of silk displaying many colors and designs. His long hair was dyed with streaks of blue and red, pulled back into a ponytail.

"Ah, Sarra my dear, so good to see you again," the man said with a thick accent, "Please, have a seat."

"Let's dispense of the formalities Xivaase, and get down to business" she said, as she sat a chair across from him. Orlan stood behind her, his arms folded and face expressionless.

"Of coarse, of coarse. Straightforward as usual Sarra," Xivasse laughed, then turned to one of the women with him, "Erra, would you please get a glass of wine for our guests?"

The woman rose and went across the room to one of the cabinets as Xivasse pulled a pouch of coins out of a pocket in his robe.

"So, what have you got for me today?"

"We have six barrels of blood outside, ready for your storehouses. And you should speak to your friends in the city guard. It was much more difficult smuggling them inside the city than before."

"Yes, well, some of the _goodhearted_ nobles have taken it upon themselves to try and stop our profitable trade. And have you heard, the kings own brother has been banished from Del for having the Craving. Sad isn't it, when the rich and powerful aren't in the palm of our hands?" Xivasse lamented.

"I couldn't care less about the royal family and their problems," Sarra frowned, "Now, about my pay..."

Xivasse extended the hand which held the pouch of coins, "I trust the usual amount will suffice?"

The woman Erra had returned with two glasses of wine. Sarra accepted hers and took a long swallow. Orlan waved the woman away.

"It would have," Sarra smirked, her blue eyes focused intently on the Maroshi man, "But not anymore."

Xivasse frowned, a puzzled expression replacing his content smile, "What do you mean, my dear?"

Sarra leaned back in her chair, looking absentmindedly at the wineglass, "My work has become more dangerous of late. Ever the dragons try to hunt the one who kills them for their blood, and recently they have come very close. My men and I were almost caught off-gaurd twice on the journey here this time. I don't mean for that to happen again. Next time, I plan to drag the beast from the very skies it presumes to rule."

Xivasse was at a loss. His eyes were darting from Sarra to the silent Capricon that stood behind her. "Well...if it's a many of money, I'm sure my friends and I..."

"Oh no, its more than money," Sarra cut him off, leaning forward and setting the glass on a table beside her chair, "I know about all the pirates and sellswords you harbor here in Broome, under the eyes of the city council. All your friends from Marosh."

Xivasse glanced around nervously, sweat visible on his brow. The others in the building were silent as well, trying to pretend that they weren't listening.

"I-I don't know w-what you're talking about," Xivasse stammered, trying to muster a laugh.

"Really," Sarra grinned, "Then you wouldn't mind if I took them off your hands? I hear Maroshi archers are some of the best. I could use that kind of skill in my line of work. What do you say, Xivasse?"

"Th-they'll never work for you," the man tried to be threatening, but failed miserably, "I've paid them handsomely all for their services."

Sarra made a mock-saddened face, "Oh, really? Well, then that's where you've failed. As I'm sure you know Xivasse, any sellsword can be bought for a higher price. And while you may think that I could never hope to match your wealth, that is where you're wrong. You see, you aren't the only buyer of my precious Dragonblood. No, men come from all corners of Deltora to buy from me, before I drag these small amounts to you. I have more wealth than you and your friends combined."

Xivasse was figeting in his chair, his hands shaking uncontrollably, "Now, now Sarra. Think of all the business we've done together. I've been faithfull to you. I've helped you."

"Oh yes, and I am grateful. Take heart Xivasse, you will still be responible for distributing my supplies of Dragonblood to the wealthy and powerful. You may just find yourself with less...influence than previously before."

Xivasse swallowed, wiping the sweat from his face with a sleeve from his robe, "Thank you, dear Sarra. My devotion will be unfaltering."

"I'm sure it will be," Sarra smiled, picking up the wine glass again, "Now, if you and your friends could leave, my men are in need of a few comforts after their long journey."

Xivasse quickly nodded and beckoned towards the two other men in the building. Just as soon as they had left, Sarra's warriors quickly filled the room, taking glasses of wine and ale, and wrapping their arms around the confused and frightened women.

Sarra sat silently in her chair, sipping at the cup of wine. She was pleased at how easy she had forced her control over Xivasse and had all but gained control of his operations here in Broome.

"How many men do you think he has here in Broome?" she asked Orlan, staring off into space.

"At least two hundred in and in the lands surrounding the city," the Capricon stated, "And most likely more can be bought and brought here from across the sea."

Sarra smiled. Broome would soon be hers. No, not just Broome. The entire northeast would be hers, her hunting grounds. She would hunt down every last stinking dragon until her lands were forever rid of their sight. Soon. Very Soon. Never had she dreamed she would reach were she sat now, but here she was. And she was not going to give any of it up.


	8. Dealing with Shadows

Heavy rain beat down on the wagon's roof as Aeran sat in the back, wrapped in an old heavy blanket. The few men that his cursed brother had let him bring along rode along outside, ten in total. A pitiful number for one of royal decent, thought Aeran. He deserved better than this. He needed better.

They'd been riding for almost a week, heading north towards smaller towns of the plains. Anywhere to get away from his brother. He shivered underneath the warm wool, skin pale and eyes dark. There hadn't been any chance to collect any Dragonblood before he'd been banished, and outside the major cities it was much harder to come by. He'd gone without the substance for a whole week and it was starting to have effect. Hopefully they'd find some soon.

Suddenly the wagon lurched to a halt. Aeran swore, fumbling to get to the flap of the wagon. He stuck his head outside, rain soaking it instantly,

"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded.

Barad, his most trusted soldier, walked up holding a scraggly young man dressed in simple clothing by his collar. Black hair hung over his face, which was set in determination against the men that surrounded him with sharpened swords.

"My lord, we found him sneaking alongside us. When we caught him, he said he needed to speak with you." Barad grunted.

Aeran laughed, "And what, dear sir, makes you think you have the right to talk to _me_?"

"Well, ever since the king exiled you from Del…"

Barad's blade swung up to the man's neck, hovering dangerously close to the skin. The man didn't even flinch.

Aeran looked at the man, intrigued, "You have sparked my interest, if not a little dangerously. Bring him inside."

He sat back down on his cushion inside the wagon as Barad thrust the man inside. Water got everywhere, but there wasn't really anything worth value to ruin, so Aeran let it pass. The man sat silent, eyes somewhat out of focus.

"So, what do I call you, friend?" Aeran asked impatiently.

The man grinned eerily, "My name isn't as important as who I represent. He is very interested in you, especially after recent events."

"And who is that?" Aeran was finding this man's seriousness quite amusing.

"The Shadow Lord," the man whispered.

Everything left Aeran's head, any thoughts of his brother, Dragonblood, being wet from the rain, everything. He couldn't even breathe for a few moments, until he forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down.

"W-What are you talking about? The Shadow Lord hasn't been heard of in three hundred years."

"No, he hasn't. But he's back, and he's willing to help you."

The idea was madness! Utter treason.

"I would never make deals with the Shadow Lord!" Aeran growled, his fists clenched, "I'm an heir of King Lief! Why would he want to help me?"

"The Shadow Lord realizes he can never hold Deltora by himself, that if he were to somehow split the Belt some new hero would step up and defeat him again. And so he wants an alliance, a partnership. With the rightful king of Deltora," the man's voice was like a twisting snake, getting ready to wrap Aeran up and consume him.

"But, my brother is the oldest. He is the rightful king," Aeran argued, his resolve weakening.

The man shook his head, dark eyes gleaming dangerously, "You are the stronger, Aeran. Your brother is weak. He cannot control Deltora like you could. You can join with the Shadow Lord, share in his power and wisdom, and together you will rule this entire continent."

The idea was like a beautiful woman beckoning him to bed. That much power. The support of the Shadow Lord. What was there to treason against? His brother had exiled him; cast him out from everything he'd known. And he knew he would be a better king than Lian.

He looked back into the man's eyes, filled with promises of power beyond his imagining, and held out his hand.

"Deal."

The man smiled wickedly, and clasped Aeran's hand with his own, "Deal."


	9. The Blade of Deltora

The stone causeway stretched out from the mainland to the island city Irian, just of Deltora's southern coast. As Gath walked over the waves below, he looked up in wonder at the city's spires and towers. It seemed to glow blue with the red setting sun behind it and the waters surrounding it gleamed like polished silver. The salty smell of the sea washed over him as the wind swept at his brown hair. He'd never been this far east, and Irian was beautiful to behold. Some said the new city rivaled Tora in beauty, but Gath wouldn't know. He'd never seen Tora either.

Esred let him through the crowded streets, past people from every part of Deltora and even some from beyond the seas, all bustling about through markets, squares, and back alleys. Hundreds of lights sparkled against the night sky as they ventured deeper and deeper into the city.

"Where exactly are we going?" Gath asked, still taken aback by the city.

"Someplace secret," Esred whispered, "Where we can talk and plan. Be careful, Gath. There are those who would see us destroyed and they could be anywhere, or anyone."

Gath nodded, content to follow in silence. During the whole journey here from Jaliad, he'd been burning to ask Esred more about his father and this Blade of Deltora society he belonged to. But the man had remained silent, only speaking when needing to and revealing nothing. Information too dangerous for the road, he'd said. Perhaps now, in Irian, Gath would find some answers.

Finally, they reached a small tavern down one of the side alleys. Esred lead Gath inside to the dimly lit room, smelling strongly of stale ale and Queen Bee's Cider. There were a few other men in sitting and drinking at the bar, but Esred sat at one of the table's in the corner, back towards the wall. Gath sat across from him. The barkeep nodded at Esred and brought them two ales, then left them alone. They sat in silent for a moment, drinking quietly.

Finally, "What do you know of King Lief's reign?"

Gath paused, confused for a moment about the question, "Besides him defeating the Shadow Lord?"

Esred nodded.

"Well, I know he rescued slaves from the Shadowlands and destroyed the Four Sisters. Other than that…"

"I suspected as much," Esred replied, "Most remember his greatest exploits, but he did much after those events to help keep Deltora a stable kingdom and prevent foreign invaders from taking our lands. Do you know of the Pirate King Laeranov and his attack on Del?"

Gath frowned, frustrated by all this history, "I thought you were going to tell me about my father and your secret group, not about Deltora's past."

Esred chuckled, "The past is everything Gath. What happened then resulted in what we are now. During his attack, Laeranov's men managed to kidnap King Lief's daughter Anna and took her away from Deltora."

"I-I've never heard that," Gath's eyes were wide in surprise.

"It's not usually taught in history lessons. But what I'm about to tell you is never talked about. Only the king and a few others know this information. Laeranov continued attacking along the coasts, making Lief's presence in Del necessary to keep moral high. But his wife's father, a man called Doom, organized a rescue party containing some of the finest warriors Deltora knew. They tracked Anna down and rescued her from the Pirate King's grasp."

It was quiet and Gath sat still, intrigued by this story, "And is that where your Blade of Deltora comes into the picture?"

Esred nodded, "Those who rescued her remained secret, going on to train others as they grew old, and they trained those after them. And it has continued from that moment to this point here. We became the Blade of Deltora, a force to fight evils that the Belt cannot repel from our lands. Are you willing to fight those evils? Are you willing to give your life to the Blade, from this moment on?"

Silence for a moment.

"And this is what my father did? Fought with you?" Gath asked.

"He was one of the best warriors we had. He saved many lives throughout the years."

Gath leaned back in his chair, eyes lost in thought. Could he save many lives? Could he be a great warrior, a defender of the kingdom and not just some lowlife in a fighting pit? The thought filled with pride and a purpose, something he had never had before. He looked back and Esred and nodded, "I'll commit."

The man smiled and stood up. Gath followed him as Esred walked to and opened a small door hidden in the back of the tavern. A steep, wooden staircase plummeted down into darkness. They reached the bottom, opened another door, and stepped into large room filled with scattered tables, maps, boxes of supplies, with men and women hunched over and talking quietly to each other. They all looked up as Gath entered.

"Welcome back Esred," a tall, burly man with a great black beard walked up to them, "Is this Graq's boy?"

Esred nodded. The tall man put a hand on Gath's soldier, "He will be missed."

The man, who Esred called Darion, went to one of the boxes and pulled out a longsword, sheathed in the finest material. He approached Gath and held the sword out.

"This was your father's blade," Darion said respectfully, "He forged it himself, years ago in Del. He'd want you to have it now."

Gath gently took the weapon in his hand and unsheathed it. The steel glinted dangerously in the dim light, the quality finer than any Gath had seen before. The weight felt just right as he moved it around gracefully.

"This will be your blade Gath, as you are a Blade of Deltora. Never forget that." Esred said.

Gath nodded, "This is my blade, and I am a Blade of Deltora."


	10. Dreams in the Darkness

The trees had burned. All around the Red gnomes' camp, charred husks of ancient trees were all that remained of the forests at the base of the mountains. The flag of the Red Mountain, a red triangle set against black diagonal lines on a white background, whipped proudly from every tent. Ale and food were in full supply, the gnomes revealing in the blood they'd split.

A cluster of small villages, their inhabitants slowly creeping farmlands up the mountain, were now the dust beneath their feet. Survivors lay bound in a tent in the far left corner of the camp, arms and legs bound. Hostages for later. They had found many Werrals in the area as well, and their fate hadn't been as pleasant. Their remains hung from great posts the gnomes erected in the ground, strung up, bodies' open, insides exposed to the world.

Dra-lin stood looking at a map of the area in the command tent, surrounded by five of his most trusted officers. Ra-gor was there, his spear till dirty with human and Warrel blood, along with Hur-na, Far-than, Gra-sin, and fat old Mor-hath. The General mused in silent thought at their next plan of action.

"The Northerners are still weak, sir," Gra-sin stated, his exquisite wooden pipe blowing out clouds of smoke, "I suggest we move along the mountains for the time being."

"That would push us into the Emerald dragons' territory. They are not a force to be taken likely," Ra-gor retorted, "We should move south, along the coast."

"If we move towards Tora, we risk being cut off from our allies by the distance," Mor-hath wheezed, patting his hands on his stomach, "The reinforcements from Solithar and Nurrad will be here in a weeks' time. Their help will be essential"

"We have enough troops now, Mor-hath," Gra-sin hissed, "The longer we stay idle, the longer our enemies will have time to prepare against an attack."

"Yes, but one should never rush headfirst into battle. The odds were in our favor here, but these were simple folk, not the warriors we will encounter further south. And what of Tora? The city has never been taken and it is the heart of western Deltora."

"We will deal with Tora when the time comes," Dra-lin announced, arms folded in concentration, "For now we must have a stronghold away from the mountains where the forces can gather and be supplied. The best option seems to move south as Ra-gor suggested. We do not have the strength yet to contend with Emerald dragons, and they will never enter the territory of the Amethyst."

The others nodded, bowed and returned to their respective tents. Dra-lin took a cup of ale and drained it quickly. The eve of war was upon them. He had no worries about taking many of the cities and villages along the western coast, but Tora was another story. The city's magic repelled evil itself and Dra-lin knew they would not be able to step foot inside. Tora's magic was too strong. And yet, it had to be dealt with eventually.

Removing his armor and weapons, he lay down on his cot in the far corner of the tent. Sleep overcame him soon, the sound of his soldiers celebrating lulling him to darkness.

Everything was darkness. He stood in the shadows themselves, unsure of where he was.

_Dra-lin…_

The gnome looked around for who had spoken, but the world had nothing in it. He wondered what manner of dream this was, where voices called out to you in the darkness.

_Dra-lin…Do you serve the call of war?_

He paused, "I am a soldier, stranger. It is what I know."

_Do you serve the shadows?_

"What do you mean? Show yourself!"

_Tora is in your mind, Dra-lin of Red Mountain. You see its demise, but do not know if it can be done._

Dra-lin was shocked, unable to speak. This was no ordinary dream. This was something different.

"Do…do you have a solution?" he asked.

A faint, dark laughter surrounded him, filled with malice and rage, chilling him to the bone.

The next morning at first light, Dra-lin summoned his officers to his tent. Sleep still filled their eyes, but they stood at attention as the General looked down at the map once again.

"My friends," he began, "Last night I was given a vision. A vision of our victory. Of the Red gnomes as the lords of the west. It will be certain, so long as we follow the plan given to me."

Mor-hath was the first to ask, "And what are these plans?"

Dra-lin grinned, brow furrowed, "We shall attack Tora. And we shall level it to the ground."


End file.
